Write You a Tragedy
by witwit8
Summary: Toxic ooze. Surviving almost a dozen bullet wounds to the chest and waking up with bones of steel. This kind of stuff doesn't happen in real life, does it? Gail Peck always loved comic books... but she never imagined that she would be the hero. Serve and Protect. That's her job, isn't it?
1. Chapter 1

Write You A Tragedy

Rating: T. For now. Anybody who has ever read my work probably knows where this is headed. Delves a little dark, my friends.

Summary: Toxic ooze. Surviving a dozen bullet wounds to the chest and waking up with bones of steel. This kind of stuff doesn't happen in real life, does it? Gail Peck always loved comic books... but she never imagined that she would be... the hero. Serve and Protect. That's her job, isn't it?

Author's note: Talk about an experiment. Post 5X03. GailXHolly. I will not continue if there is not enough interest so, please, let me know if there is. I've never done an AU. But I guess it won't kill me to try something new. Points to anyone who knows where the title comes from.

Feet pound upon the pavement, the sound echoing in the black, hollow night. Two sets at a rapid pace, pushing as hard and as fast as they both possibly can, fighting. One for freedom, one for justice, for respect. She can hear the breaths in the night, see her own puffing out, making a cloud in front of her face. Her lungs burn, her feet and legs ache with the exertion but she pushes on, eager to put an end the already labor-us apprehension of the suspect. She shouts her location into the radio on her chest, asks for back up, is met with a stat-icky silence. A curse puffs from her lips but the knowledge that it's just her- her and this scum sucking son of a bitch- alone together, just her standing between him and the freedom she so desperately wants- needs- to take away from him- it makes her push all the harder, makes her determination all the more great.

She tackles him from behind with a growl, spearing into the small of his back and rolling with the weight of him. A brief struggle as he punches her in the face, hard, and goes to run once more. Her fingers grasp at his leg, digging into the skin of his calf, dragging herself behind him. She focuses ob her other hand not latched to the suspect, finds it drifting to the gun on her thigh. She grips it, shouts a warning, and removes it from its holster.

She doesn't expect the weight of him, crashing down upon her, doesn't anticipate the heel that comes kicking back into her nose. She curses, feels the coppery taste intensify in her mouth. Gives chase as he gains his footing and runs once more.

She rounds the corner of the alley, follows the sound of his heels clicking upon the concrete, follows it into a large, abandoned warehouse that blankets her immediately in its darkness. She feels the force of his body crashing into her from behind, hears the clatter of her gun as it skids onto the hollow, wooden floor.

Seconds feel like hours.

The struggle is hard. The tang in her mouth makes her nauseous. She's never been good at seeing in the dark.

She sees his face, illuminated, when he fires upon her. Her vest takes the first two. The other seven or so hit their target. The last of the clip ricochets amongst the stock in the warehouse. The last thing she remembers is the feel of something, something vile and putrid, some kind of liquid burning her skin. The last thing she remembers is the thought of dying, of the faces of the people who loved her best. She wonders about them, almost feels relieved. She was never good with goodbyes. She's almost glad she's alone. Almost glad she doesn't have to see the look of devastation on her face. She drifts into nothingness, the burning in her veins giving way to a pleasant, quiet white.

She wakes to the sound of beeping. The sound of dripping tubes and buzzing wires. Her throat is dry, her eyes tired. A voice rouses her, makes her head loll to the side.

It's not the person she necessarily wanted but it's someone that she doesn't mind to see.

Ollie's smile is wide, his own eyes tired but bright.

His hand squeezes hers, his voice coming out loud and excited.

"Peck! Holy hell! Welcome back, buddy!"

He claps his hand on her shoulder and grimaces at the ensuing groan, his own hand suddenly snapping back from her shoulder and waving back and forth, seemingly in pain.

"Holy shit, Peck! You been working out? Ouch!"

She shakes her head, trying to formulate words. He takes sympathy then, reaching for the cup beside her, letting her take long, thirsty draws of water.

"I'm going to call the doctor, okay, pal?"

She doesn't answer, simply lets her eyes close, letting the water soother down her battered throat.

The second time she wakes, there's a man in a white coat standing over her smiling and telling her how lucky and remarkable she is. So many bullets, so little damage. Radioactive material, no chemical burns. She's either a freak or a miracle. She snarks back to him, chases him out of the room and is met with silence, finally. Turns on the TV with the remote or tries to. The broken plastic feels like legos in her palm, the wires still sparking with electricity. She frowns. She's stronger than she thought.

She's discharged on the third day, her brother coming to pick her up in his battered truck. His eyebrows raise when she strides, confident, out of the room. He doesn't say a word, simply watches her was she walks out and plants herself in the passenger side and closes her eyes. He drives her home, drops her off. Her mother calls. She doesn't answer.

Holly calls all of the time. She doesn't answer, of course, the sting of her friend's rejection still fresh in her mind as well as the humiliation she feels when she thinks of what she wanted to give the brunette- what the brunette did not want to return.

She doesn't want to be fun. She wants to be something to somebody. Anything, really. She wants Holly to be that someone. Holly's friends make her think that she isn't.

She focuses on the recovery, focuses on everything that comes with it. Focuses on the power now flowing through her veins.

She discovers she can fly on a Thursday. She calls in sick to work, her voice high and excited and terrified and feigns sickness because holy fuck she can fly and this is something she is not trained to handle but something she is all too eager to embrace.

The super strength is there, and sometimes, sometimes she hears thoughts. She thinks that this is useful but learns to turn it off when she doesn't want any part in what the person is thinking. She figures it has something to do with the the shooting. She becomes a kick ass police officer. She knows when you're lying. She knows when you've been bad or good. Peck becomes a monster in the interrogation room in such a short time.

She begins to believe that there is something better out there for her, begins to believe that there is a greater good in which she could be serving. Gail Peck was born to be a police officer. Gail Peck was born to serve and protect. Gail Peck decided, one cold and rainy Toronto night, on the third night she could not sleep no matter how hard she tried, that there was more to what happened to her than what she was doing. What she knew she needed to be doing.

Gail Peck can't sleep because there are things that need to be done, things that need to be protected and solved and people that should be brought the justice. People she could deliver and predict and put where they belong.

She decides to be a hero that day.

She decides to make a difference.

Please review. Have faith. Thank you.

Whit


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Thank you for the response, I appreciate all of the reviews. I'm not sure how long this will be, how often the updates will be or even how coherent the time line will be. I'm so excited about getting into the crime fighting that I don't want to bother with the exposition, ha. We shall see.

Chapter 2:

No one could explain her progress, no one could explain her recovery or the way her body patched itself so quickly, so seamlessly. Gail Peck didn't have a scar, a scratch, a bruise. Gail Peck's body was the very measure of human perfection.

Unfortunately for Gail Peck, she really has no idea who, or _what_, she is anymore. Human, machine, alien, freak? A month ago, she'd been staring into the bottom of a bottle, her heart crushed beneath the weight of a woman's judgment. A month ago she'd finally caught a glimpse of the life and the future that she thought she could have. Then- then the rush of disappointment, the crushing weight of it. Spiteful words and love-worn, watery eyes. She'd turned and walked away and hadn't looked back. She hadn't answered the phone calls or the panicked texts. She'd cut her out of her life. She doesn't need the heartache, doesn't need the distraction or the utter madness that tends to envelop her mind when the forensic pathologist is mixed into her life. So, she patrols the streets at night.

Every evening after her roommates are tucked firmly into bed, she pulls on a pair or leather fingerless gloves, laces up her combat boots and tucks her leather pants into them snuggly. A worn zip up hoodie, grey, pulled up around her head, a black scarf covering her mouth. She is transformed. She is powerful. She is in complete and total control for the first time in her miserable life.

She flies around the city during the evenings, drifting, listening and waiting for someone to call out, for the sounds of fire and the sounds of fists against flesh. Bullets don't hurt her, the hands that come down upon her flesh feel like whispers- barely there, soft. She knocks them out, never kills-she doesn't have to- and ties their hands together with the plastic zip ties she swipes from the lock up. She does her best to avoid cameras, avoid any press altogether. She's there to do a job, to make the city safer, to make up for all of the people and things that she's lost.

It isn't particularly fulfilling most nights if she is honest with herself- the loneliness sticks in her gut and twists every morning when she sneaks back into the apartment she shares and nonchalantly starts the espresso machine, showers, and waits. Waits for news of yet another perp being dropped in the laps of her superiors, babbling nonsense about a woman who'd assaulted and knocked them out. She laughs quietly to herself every time Frank announces the situation in the morning.

Some call her a vigilante. Some call her a hero. She doesn't know what she is anymore.

It's been months since she last went out with her friends, afraid of the power she now possessed, afraid of letting herself get drunk or too comfortable and letting herself drift into the comfort of someone's arms- her arms. The woman she tried to get out of her head. The woman who had finally stopped calling. The woman she avoids at all costs. Holly doesn't need the baggage, doesn't need the stress. She's better off without her. She tells herself that every morning as she dresses, tells herself every night as she's driving her fist over and over again into the faceless villains poisoning the city's streets.

She doesn't tell anyone, can't. She performs at work better than she ever has, receives commendation after commendation. Her mother, her father, Steve- so proud.

She's not sure she's ever felt so hollow. She doesn't sleep anymore, doesn't have to, really. Let's the wind streak pass her half lidded, burning eyes as she flies, becomes reignited. Promises herself, promises Toronto, one last go around before she heads back for coffee and parade.

She tries to avoid her at all costs at work. When it's impossible, she keeps the conversation professional and light. Tries to ignore Holly's tired eyes, her imploring words. She swallows the burning in her throat and passes by quickly. Tries to ignore Holly's thoughts- so sad, so sincere and searching and goddamn beautiful and filled with promises- glides past the pathologist swallowing the tears that threaten to consume her blue, wide eyes. Stops only when she feels the warmth of the brunettes hand on her arm.

The words sound so stricken and come tumbling out of her mouth. But she knows what's coming. She's heard it all before even if Holly hasn't said it. She shakes her head, walks away. Tries not to hate herself when she hears the soft shudder of breath. Fails.

She's used to it.

She tries not to watch the brunette at night, tries not to keep tabs. She's not very good at that, either. Something in her chest is heavy until she watches the light in the brunette's room click off each night, can't help but strain her ears to hear the click on the lock as it slides into place. Releases the breath she never realizes she's holding.

She cares. And hates that she cares. And believes that maybe one day, if she jails enough criminals and protects enough people that maybe the part of her, the empty place in her chest, would be made whole.

That plan goes bottom up one particularly chilly evening. It's already been one hell of a night and it's not getting better. She feels the scream before she hears it, her heart leaping up into her throat at the sound. She knows that sound. Knows the lips it's been ripped from so well.

She finds her almost instantly, has the mother fucker holding a knife to the woman's throat on the ground, beaten to a pulp, before the brunette can even blink. She brings her fist up once more to deliver a final, devastating blow, her mind clouded and red with rage, her body shaking, her stomach in knots. The pounding of her heart is loud in her ears and heavy in her heart and she realizes that she's gasping, raggedly, with every swipe of her fist.

She feels a hand come over her own, warm against the leather.

"Hey," the brunette says softly, "Hey. It's okay. I think- I think it's okay. I don't think he's going to hurt me- or anything else- for a while. Just- relax, okay?"

She breathes deeply, closing her eyes, lowers her fist. Avoids the pathologists eyes and snatches her hand back, pulling the zip ties out of her back pocket. Ties his hands together, a little tighter than normal. Prick.

A heavy silence envelops both of the women as Gail stares down at her feet seemingly frozen to the spot despite the fact that she could be gone, well, in a flash, and Holly stares at her, brow furrowed, her lip between her teeth.

The words come out of the blonde's mouth before she has a chance to think about them, the words slightly muffled from the scarf in front of her face.

"Are you- okay, Holly?"

A stunned look- a hitch in her breath-

Oh. Shit.

"How- how do you know me? Who-" She takes a step closer, tries to make out the blonde's features in the murky light of the alley.

"No. I- uh- I've got to-"

You're the one, aren't you? The masked vigilnate or whatever dropping criminals off at 15, right? That's you?"

She doesn't know what to say. The words feel heavy on her tongue.

"And- you know me. How do you know me? I feel- have we met, maybe?"

She needs to leave. She needs to take the perp and she needs to spring into the air or leap the building in a single mother fucking bound but she's frozen and Holly is coming closer and then the brunette is cupping her face with a scraped palm and she can't help herself, she sinks into the touch and closes her eyes.

A second or two- and then, she hears it. The puzzle clicking together in the brunette's head, the realization coming down upon her like a ton of bricks.

A gasp, a sudden tight pressure on her face and then-

"Gail? Is that-"

And the hands come to the scarf, remove it. Holly's eyes are wide, her mouth slack and wide open and the blonde just nods and doesn't say much else.

But Holly is gentle and even though the woman's eyes are searching and her thoughts are so fucking jumbled, she just cradles her face, doesn't ask any questions. Lets the blonde shudder and surrender in her arms.

The brick digs into her back suddenly, her eyes shut for another reason altogether as she feels a pair of soft lips pressing against her own. A tongue tracing the seam of her lips, the feel of them so familiar and then her own, parting, Holly taking full advantage, her hips pinned tightly against the blonde's, hard against the old brick facade.

Holly pours herself into her, the longing, the panic and fear, the desperation and the affection. She's missed it. Missed the feel of the pathologist's body blanketing her own, missed the pressure of her bite on her shoulder and the sound of the gasp in her ear as she slips her leg between the older woman's.

She lets herself feel for the first time in months.

Lets herself forget and get lost and feel human and real for the first time in so long.

Since the last time she had Holly and she can't help it. The wanting- it's all consuming.

And she welcomes it.

Review if you like. Thanks.

Whit


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Author's note: Thank you for all of the reviews. Strap on your helmets, kids. We're gonna get twisty in this and the next couple chapters.

* * *

She allows herself a few more moments- a few more moments of breathing the pathologist's air, tangling their tongues together, letting her hand drift up underneath the thick wool of her sweater, and lets herself get absolutely lost in the somewhat messy cant of the brunette's hips against her own. She pushes the older woman away as gently as she can and shudders unpleasantly when their lips part.

She backs away, swallowing hard and cursing her stupidity, her absolute carelessness with the woman. She shouldn't know, she couldn't know. It puts her in danger, more importantly puts Holly in danger, and compromises everything she is currently trying to work for. She can't let feelings get involved. The old part of her, the before, it aches. It screams at her, claws at her eyes and burns her heart, makes it leap into the hollow of her throat and makes it hard to breathe with how much, how much it wants to give in and surrender to comfort, the absolute warmth of the other woman. But the new- the after- it's all different. It's all changed. She can't have a normal life. She can't give the woman what she deserves. Holly's friends were right- now, painfully, more than ever.

Holly deserves better.

Better than a freak of the night masquerading as a hero. Better than an anomaly, a question of science. A mutant.

She grabs the perp, hoists him upon her shoulder with little effort. Turns and looks at the brunette, hard. Her eyes pleading, soft, and ultimately so regretful.

"Please," she says, "You can't-no one can know. I- please, Hol."

A beat. A breath.

"Gail," a broken voice says, "Wait. You can't just show up and fucking leap into action and save my life and- kiss me- and then, Jesus, Gail. You're a goddamn... superhero or something. Can you... did you fly down here? I could have sworn-"

"Goddammit, Hol! Just- leave it, alright? It's better if you don't-"

But all of a sudden Holly is so close again and her hand is once more on the blonde's face and Gail tries so hard not to let her eyes drift close but the sensation is still so- and she can't-

The shuddering sigh leaves her lips then, a single tear sliding down her nose and she tips her head forehead to meet the brunette's. A sudden dull thud as the criminal is dropped unceremoniously behind her and then she's wrapped in Holly's arms, shaking, her head tucked into the side of the pathologist's neck. Allows herself a few moments once more, moves her lips to Holly's ear, speaks as earnestly as she can.

"I wish- I wish things were different. I wish this wasn't- I wish a lot of things, Hol. And I want to explain, I do- but there's so, so much. I just. I need time. I need time and I need to think- and I'm not sure how long any of it is going to take and I can't-"

A chaste kiss, lip to lip. So brief and simple, sweet.

A sigh.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She nods her head, her blonde hair rustling in the winter wind. Takes the scarf back, allows the other woman to tuck it around her face and ears, draws the hood back over her head. A brief glance back, a silent understanding.

She grabs the perp, jumps, and is gone.

Holly watches her burst into the sky, breathless, staring into its murky depths for long moments after, willing the blonde to return. She knows she won't.

She waits anyway.

* * *

The next few days are hell for the brunette. On Thursday, it gets ever worse.

One moment she's looking into the familiar lens of her microscope and the next, she's looking into the cold face of Steven Peck. A brief moment of silence as they stare each other down for a moment. She swallows, tries to smile and hopes it comes out less painful than it feels.

He's all business. A curt nods and questions. It's all routine, all blood samples and cold cases and then-

"And Dr. Stewart? There's something else I was kind of oping you could help me out with. Off the record."

An eyebrow raises, a bemused glace.

"As you've probably heard, we have a bit of a vigilante on our hands. Every night for the past couple of months, perps have ended up dumped on the front steps of the police station, written confession in hand. And it's the damnedest thing- they all talk about..."

Holly's blood runs cold, her throat dry. Listens as he talks of speculation, reports of a masked woman with undeniable strength able to take bullets with barely a flinch. He lays down a piece of paper in front of her.

"So, will you run it through the system? Check it for prints of pull off some other neat pathologist trick? I just- I've got a feeling about this guy. Doesn't sit tight with me."

Holly gulps.

"Detective Peck- I'm really so, so busy- and I- from all of I've heard, this guy, he's doing right by you guys, right? Helping you clean up the streets? Why mess with a good thing, right?"

He stares at her. Hard. Holly squirms in her seat.

"Whoever it is- they're breaking the law. They can't just go around-"

"Saving lives? Putting murderers and drug dealers and other scum behind bars? Terrible."

She watches the man narrow his eyes, bites his lip.

"Just- check the paper, alright? See if there are prints or DNA or anything. Just see if it's in the system? Please?"

Hesitation. Gail's face runs through her head. She panics.

"I won't do it. I won't- I help capture someone who is- who is-"

"You feel strongly about this- this maniac, then? So much so you're willing to lose your job over it?"

Something sparks in the pathologist then and suddenly her chest is hot, her mind fuzzy with anger.

"Off the record, Detective. Isn't that what you just said? I hardly think-"

And suddenly his eyes are like steel and he's gritting his teeth and he stares deep into her and she thinks that maybe the man can see into the very depths of her soul, like he can read her like a book.

"Do you know something?"

Her head is shaking almost immediately. Her eyes wide. She's not a good liar. Knows it.

"If you know something- Dr. Stewart... "

She looks away, is pulled back by a loud yell.

"Holly!"

"I don't," she suddenly bursts, "Look, I'll look at your paper but I'm not making any promises and for the record, I think- I think that whoever they are, the person who's doing all of this- I think they're a fucking hero! Alright?"

A Beat. Another narrow of the eyes. A grim nod. A brief thanks. And then he's gone. His feet are barely out the door before her fingers are typing the message into her phone. Panic sets in and she leans her head down on her forearms and waits.

Thankfully she doesn't have to for long.

The blonde appears before her in an instant and stands expectantly in front on the pathologist whose lungs heave a great sigh in relief. A pause and then nothing but the scrape of the stool as Holly springs from it, catching the blonde in a tight embrace. A moment, a sound of exasperation from the Gail's lips, a murmur and then complete and total surrender. Her arms come up to cradle Holly in return, her brow suddenly furrowed in concern.

She does her best to block out the rambling thoughts of the brunette, it feels invasive somehow. All she knows is that she heard Holly's voice screaming out for her from miles away, causing her to spring up and rush to the lab before the chime of her cellphone even began to sound.

The explanation comes out in a rush- testing, her brother, wanting to know the identity of the vigilante. His pursuit of her. Gail lets out a steady breath, runs her fingers through her hair, distances her body. Tells her that she'll figure it out. To delay it as much as possible. Holly agrees, sits back down, suddenly uncomfortable.

Gail opens her mouth to speak- shuffles a little bit closer, her eyes almost pleading. A breath, both pairs locked and then- the shrill ring of the phone and a curse underneath her breath. Traci- a case. She's got to go. A somber nod, soft watery eyes.

And Gail can't help herself, she really can't, and suddenly she's striding over to the brunette and cupping her face with both of her hands and sliding the pads of her fingers along smooth, olive colored cheeks and she's lost in the sensation.

"Thank you, for telling me. And for- for looking out for me. No one really ever has."

The words so soft and restrained. The wanting thinly veiled but veiled still.

"I- I told you I wouldn't. So-" A gulp as Holly closes her eyes, the sensation of Gail's thumb swiping unconsciously over her full bottom lip almost too much to bear.

They stand like that there for long moment, too wrapped up in each other to speak. A heavy silence, another shrill ring of the phone.

"I've got to go."

And suddenly Holly's arms are empty and cold, her lips still burning along the lines Gail had drawn with her fingertips.

* * *

Gail keeps with her routine, keeps vigil and tries her best to keep the city safe. Robbers and rapists and murderers have nothing on her. She simply can't be matched. That's what she tells herself, that's what she believes.

But nothing is ever really as it seems. And she should have known better than to be as arrogant as she was for as long as she was.

Everything changes in April, a full five months since her brush with death. She's on desk duty for no particular reason other than she was the one who's been assigned the task for the day when she hears his voice, her back going ramrod straight, the blood in her veins turning icy, her throat sticking with contempt.

She'd know his face, his voice anywhere. Saw it in the bright burst of gun powder and lead as he fired down upon her.

His sneering face was the last one she thought she'd ever see.

She draws her gun immediately, lips in a snarl, telling him to freeze, to drop to the ground.

She's met with a twisted smile, a raised eyebrow.

His hand juts out faster than she can even process, crushing her windpipe in one devastating motion. She wheezes out a breath and sucks in a gulp of air before his fist is bearing down upon her, clutched around her slender throat. She feels her feet lifted off the ground, feels her eyes opening and bulging with the strain. Feels the edges of her vision darken. Only sees the ghastly, empty eyes of the maniac bearing down upon her, waiting to see the light go out in her own.

Screaming, gunshots.

Gleeful, maniacal laughing.

Jesus Christ, she thinks, this is how it all ends.

* * *

Please let me know what you think. Already halfway through number four so it should be posted sometime later this weekend or at the beginning of the week.

Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

Gonna get a little M-rated up in here. Do not continue if you're not into that and please review if you're so inclined.

* * *

Chapter 4:

The world comes crashing down, the very foundation beneath her feet creaks and groans and begins to shake. She loses her footing, trying desperately to find some purchase on the ground slick with debris and sweat and blood. Her own. Every thing is different. Everything is fucking ruined and it's all her fault. That thought, that feeling is a familiar one.

The feeling of a hand releasing her throat only to send her crashing down into a desk, snapping the metal and wooden structure in half beneath the force of her own weight, that's another one altogether.

She can feel the wind expel from her body, struggles to right herself, dizzy with sensation. Sees the mother fucking looming over her, sees him swatting away her friends and colleagues like flies. Hears the panic, the screams.

Anger flares in her chest, overwhelms her senses as she begins to see his lips move, his voice snide and taunting.

"You are a very interesting woman, Officer Peck," he smiles, his teeth gleaming in the florescent lights.

"So very- noble and heroic. So very- morose, and lonely and tortured. Almost like something out of the Marvel Verse, don't you think? A real, live, fucking hero, ladies and gentlemen!"

She's on her feet then, her stance defensive, the words tumbling out her mouth, a sneer fixed on them, her eyes grim and resolved. No turning back.

"Nah, I'm more of a DC or Dark Horse girl myself. Now- who the fuck are you and what do you want?"

His smile, if possible, gets wider as his eyes harden. His voice almost goes soft.

"Why, I think you know who I am. Or who I was. An innocent man, chased by a dumb ass rookie officer, forced to choose between defending his own life and taking another's. Really, it is just- a tragic tale."

"I caught you disposing of two bodies. You told me you enjoyed watching them die."

"Technicalities. I could venture to say that my innocence is presumed until found guilty in a court of law. You were going to play executioner. You would have enjoyed watching me die, Peck. Admit it. Come on."

Silence. She narrows her eyes, feels her mouth twist up in its own sadistic grin.

"If I knew then what I know now? I'd relish putting a bullet in your brain, yeah."

A howl of laughter. It wipes the grin right off of her face. Makes her stomach churn.

"You're no better than I am."

She's shaking her head before the words are out of his mouth.

"That's where you're wrong," she growls, the words spitting out of her mouth.

Then it's all a fury of fists on flesh, the force of them resounding in the hollow of the station. She pushes the maniac forward, hopping over the desk in a flash and diving into him, smashing his body down onto the floor, straining to hold him to the crumbling linoleum. She punches him with all of her might- first in his face and then into the sides of his body, the sound of the air expelling from his lungs as she pummels his kidneys before returning back to his still smirking face. All she can see is red, all she can taste is the coppery liquid she knows must be pouring from her nose.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Chris and Dov staring at her, slack-jawed, can see Traci, gun raised and staring, creeping closer still and shouting out questions. She makes the mistake of looking in the detective's direction, barely manages the somewhat shaky order for the officers to get out, to let her handle the situation, when-

A burst of fire in the side of her own face, the wind leaving her lungs. A gasp, blood spattering on the floor. He bursts forward, uppercuts to her jaw rapidly and she swears she can feel her teeth crack with the weight of it. She struggles to stay on her feet, feels her legs begin to sway, forces her mind to focus, to believe that she can beat him.

He's gone in the blink on an eye, gleefully tells her to catch him if she wants him. She curses, swallowing the nausea that rises in her throat. Looks around her at a room full of stunned and slightly wounded officers. She turns to them, her bruised eyes watery, her mouth grim.

"I've got this. Don't follow me. Set up a perimeter. Please. I can't- Just trust me. I've gotta go-"

And then she's out the door, her body in the air flying as fast and as hard as she possibly can. She can just see him as he zips through the Toronto skyline, can hear his taunts even as the wind roars in her ears. Hears the gasps of surprises as they are both spotted, hears the shutter and click of the cameras and they are captured to film.

She catches up to him rather quickly, her body slamming into him with a heavy, hollow thud, the momentum sending their bodies careening into the pavement below. They crash into it, the concrete splintering and shattering, dust kicking up and blanketing their bodies. They roll into the now vacant road, the concrete folding as their bodies move forward, their limbs swinging, their legs kicking even as they skid to a halt.

She hears the screams, sees the flashing of the lights. Doesn't care. Focuses on her fingers around his throat, the look of joy he still holds in his empty eyes. They tumble. They claw. She follows him to Humber Bay Bridge, loaded with tourists on the sunny, warm afternoon. She watches in horror as he raises his fists to this sky only to bring them down hard upon the wooden planks, her body propelling forward to catch the plummeting bodies before they touch the river below.

She puts them down on the shore as quickly and softly as she can, delving into the still cool depths when her reaching fingers fail to catch a small child, her mother screaming from the shore. She reaches her in record time, propels herself, clenches her hand around the child's clammy wrist.

It takes her ten seconds to revive the child, the air filling the smaller person's lungs, her tiny heart pumping in time with the blonde's insistent fists.

A crying child, a panicked grateful woman.

Panic of her own. She looks around frantically for any sign of him. Doesn't find one. He's gone.

She springs into the air then, ducks her head, flies into the sky. It's not until she's up high that she sees the message carved into what is left of the mangled bridge.

_'It's been fun. Let's do it again sometime soon. Til we meet again, officer.'_

* * *

She doesn't go back to the station, doesn't go back home. Flies for hours, searching. Assesses her injuries, wills her nose to stop bleeding, her head to stop its pounding, the wound there, a deep laceration to her scalp, running steadily as well. Her ribs ache, she feels the bruises forming. For the first time in a long time, feels the absolute weariness in her bones. Finds herself flying in the direction of the only place she wants to go; where she needs to go.

She feels vulnerable, sick.

She's not invincible anymore.

She doesn't knock, doesn't care that it's almost three o'clock in the morning. Her body simply needs, simply yearns and she can do little except answer its call.

But Holly's not asleep.

In fact, she's sitting in the kitchen, nursing a beer, her television turned up to what must have been close to its highest volume, the news flashing images. Images of her, of the man who had attacked her, once killed her.

Holly turns around, the bottle halfway raised to her lips when she hears footsteps and the creak of the door. Her eyes are wide, her mouth and arm frozen. They stare at one another for a moment before Holly's hand is suddenly slamming the beer down on the counter and striding over to the officer, worried brown eyes sweeping the length of the badly beaten face before her.

"Gail," the doctor breathes, sounding broken, sounding so scared and small and so goddamn helpless, "I've been- goddamn it."

And it doesn't matter that she's bleeding and it doesn't matter that she's so fucking tired she can't stand, she allows herself to sink into Holly, closing her eyes and letting out a mangled sob. It's suddenly too much, too hard, to manage. She didn't want to fight anymore. She didn't want to play the hero anymore. Gail wants to be normal, wants the before back. Wants to lose herself in the feel of the brunette. Surrender to her.

And then Holly is gripping her tighter, her hands winding around her body and almost cradling her, whispering words of nonsense and comfort soothingly into her ear. What follows next is a blur to the blonde- a suture kit that she insists she doesn't need but the doctor insists right back upon. The bleeding stops. Her nose barely swells, her eyes are no longer blackening. She's healing, feels it. Tells Holly so.

After she's been patched up and cleaned up, dressed in borrowed clothes, they both settle into a strained silence, Gail seat upon one of the stools in the kitchen. She tries to ignore the flow of muddled thoughts Holly is throwing around in her brain, tries to ignore the skin on her chest that is visible beneath the top of her baggy sleep shirt.

The doctor suggests sleep, the officer lets out a strangled laugh.

Does she want to talk? Does she need anything? Can she ask her a question about what happened today?

The questions go on unanswered ears, the officer merely shaking her head, the words stopping in her throat, caught. Frozen.

"They- they haven't identified you. Yet. By the way. They- uh- most of the shots are too far away to actually see your face or your badge number. They just know you're dressed as a cop. I- thought you'd like to know."

That gets her attention, furrows her brow.

"They-" she clears her throat, "the fight, it started at the station... and most of the unit... they know, Hol. I can't, I'm not sure I can go back there."

And suddenly Holly is so close but the blonde can't stand it- can't stand the thought of never being able to face the people she loved, her friends, her family, again. Can't stand the thought of this woman getting so close when all Gail can ever do is cause heartache and pain and danger no matter how much she utterly wants. She pushes herself away violently in a fury, unwilling to be touched.

So they stand, meters between them. It feels like miles. The silence feels like an ending.

She hears the brunette swallow, looks down at her feet. Notices suddenly when she sees another pair of socks right in front her own. Suddenly it's all Holly, all sweet smelling hair and the slightest hint of beer on her lips. Holly doesn't touch her, doesn't move. Simply peers.

Looks straight into her. Makes Gail feel so exposed, so raw. And it's then- in the dimly lit kitchen, in the wee hours of the morning- that she breaks.

She surges into her, pressing her aching body into the older woman, her lips pressing insistently against the brunette's. Doesn't stop even when she feels herself propelling forward, only stopping when she hears a thud, breaking away to see they've ended up against the refrigerator, hips sliding against one another, hands in each other's hair, lips tangled, Gail's tongue forcing its way into Holly's mouth, twisting. She moans when she retreats, only for Holly's tongue to chase hers back into the soft cavern of her mouth, teasingly flicking against hers. It's so heady, so fucking heavy and passionate and combined with the rapidly rising pleasure from the rhythm of their hips, it's all Holly can do to get even closer, suddenly placing her hands on the blonde's shoulders and and hooking one of her legs around the blonde's.

She gasps when the blonde shifts without breaking the kiss, pulling on her bottom lip with her teeth, and places a leg between Holly's. Grinds down on it immediately, completely sinking into the feeling. Gasps once more with surprise when Gail suddenly places her hands on her ass, hoists her up, finds her other leg wrapped around the officer's waist, her hands still braced on her shoulders.

It's endless, breathless, messy. All rocking hips and searching tongues and smoldering touches.

They're moving suddenly, Holly suddenly horizontal and on a hard surface. It doesn't take her long to figure out it's her kitchen table.

The thought makes her clench, makes her fingers grip harder into the back of the woman who was currently nipping down her neck, squeezing her breasts, licking the shell of her ear, the hollow in her neck.

Holly can't speak, can barely breathe. Knows they need to talk, knows this could very well be the stupidest fucking thing she's ever allowed herself to do, but can't find the power to resist when the blonde is moving against her body the way she is, when she's whimpering low in her throat and searching for friction, dirty and desperate words spilling from her lips.

She hears the ripping of her clothes before she feels it, barely registers her surprise before the blonde's hands are beneath the lace of her bra, before even that piece of clothing is gone, her hands replaced with the steady flick of Gail's tongue.

"Jesus Christ," she moans, " I've missed you so much, Gail. So much."

She doesn't answer, lets her teeth latch around a stiff nipple before soothing it with her tongue.

She pulls away onto to look into brown eyes clouded with lust, her own eyes echoing the sentiment, deep blue with their own need.

"I missed you, too," she whispers, her lips drifting down once more to Holly's breasts, flicking both nipples alternatively, palming them, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, Hol. About us. This. God."

And then her pants and underwear are gone and she feels like she should be surprised that she's this wet but then again, it's Gail, and she feels the moan rip from her throat, stunned at its volume, when she feels the blonde's fingers slide into her with out preamble. The blonde blankets herself over the other woman, settling down fully, sighing when their bodies met fully, even the feeling of Holly through cotton pajamas amazing. She pumps in and out of the brunette, situating her hips so they aid the movements of her hand, moves her thumb so it brushes against her clit with every pass.

She moves her mouth to Holly's neck, to her ear, and buries her head there, cradling her forehead in the crook of her neck, moving slowly, rotating her hips in circles before thrusting her hips forward, curling her fingers.

She feels the pathologist's hips rise, feels the sting of her bite against her shoulder.

"You feel so good, Holly," she gasps, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about the first time I fucked you. How ready and hot and wet you were for me. How much I've wanted to do it ever since."

Another moan, another hitch of the breath and unconscious thrust of her hips.

Gail drew away for a moment, continuing the movement of her hips, suddenly drawn to Holly's face. She watches her eyes close, her teeth grip her lip, watches her tongue peek out to run across them.

And suddenly she's saying the brunette's name, using her the hand that isn't curling and thrusting into Holly, and cupping Holly's face with it and Holly's eyes and open and for the first time in so, so long, Gail lets herself feel and fear and hope.

And she's lost, she's so goddamn lost and broken and terrified but- for the first time since that night in the Penny so long ago, for the first time since she died in a fucking warehouse and let her last thoughts drift to the woman underneath her- for the first time in months, she feels truly human, feels parts of herself, the ice around her heart, the knot of guilt stuck firm in your gut, break and shift and move. And this feeling, it's new.

For the first time, Gail Peck feels free.

* * *

Let me know what you think! Thanks!


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